


welcoming back from the ocean

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is maddening for many reasons, but tonight he's mostly maddening because he forwent a jacket and insisted they take their drinks down to the water and he's just <i>sitting here</i>, pink-cheeked and windswept and rumpled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	welcoming back from the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching _Starter for 10_ and McAvoy was all wind-swept and pink-cheeked and I resolutely was too drunk to write fic, but then **pearl_o** was like, "That's okay, Erik's too drunk to deal with it too" and I started drunkenly mashing at my keyboard until words formed. So. This happened.
> 
> Title from "The Ocean" by Dar Williams.

Charles Xavier is _maddening_.

He's maddening for many reasons that have to do with telepathy and morals and trust and all sorts of things, but mostly tonight he's maddening because he forwent a jacket and insisted they take their drinks down to the water and he's just _sitting here_ , pink-cheeked and windswept and rumpled.

Erik closes his hand around his glass to keep from reaching out to touch.

The breeze off the ocean is cool and whipping Charles' hair around, tousling it this way and that. He keeps raising a hand to sweep it out of his eyes, smiling the whole time even as the bite of the cold turns his cheeks and nose and ears a bright pink.

He bites his bottom lip when he smiles, sometimes. His teeth aren't entirely straight.

Erik finishes his drink in two long swallows as Charles starts to wave his hands around, explaining the details of some crazy exploit he and Raven had undertaken in their youth. The alcohol burns through his veins, warms his fingers, but does nothing for the thrum of arousal he can feel just beneath his skin. If anything, it sharpens the longing, increases his heart rate, leaves him listing towards Charles as he keeps _talking_ , apparently oblivious to the picture he makes, to how young and beautiful he looks here, perched on the edge of a rock, with the smell of the sea curling around them. It reminds Erik of the night they met, of the way his hopelessness was so abruptly replaced with wonder as he discovered he didn't have to be alone.

There are a million reasons this is a terrible idea, a million doubts niggling at his mind, reminding him about _Shaw_ and _revenge_ and _death_ and dozens of other things. But none of them can overcome the roaring in his ears when Charles pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his fingertips.

Charles is beautiful and young and as-yet untouched by the horrors that Erik has seen and Erik will _ruin_ him in all likelihood, destroy him, even though it's the last thing he wants to do. He can't help but destroy everything he touches. He's not made to be tender, but even though the last thing he wants to do is hurt Charles, to change him or spoil him in any way, the urge to touch him is overwhelming. Erik's never _wanted_ like this, mostly because he usually doesn't hesitate in taking what he wants. He hasn't taken Charles yet, can't allow himself to do so, except that he's dropping his tumbler down into the sand and reaching to take those cold fingers in his own.

Charles startles out of his speech, gives Erik a crooked, confused smile that twists into shock as Erik moves close. Charles' eyes widen, so fucking blue that Erik's breath gets caught in his throat, and his lips part and then Erik is kissing him.

Charles' eyes close, his hands--freezing and shaking--touch the sides of Erik's face, his neck, his shoulders. Erik holds Charles' face squarely between his hands and concentrates on tasting every corner of his mouth, focuses on the feeling of Charles' eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, the noises drifting out of Charles' mouth. He's arching his body towards Erik, pulling him close, and all the reasons why this is a terrible idea have flown out of Erik's mind, because he doesn't understand how life could possibly get better than it is right now, with Charles' body pressing tight against his own, Charles gasping against his mouth.

"Oh, _Erik_ ," Charles murmurs. His fingers are fisted in Erik's jacket and not letting go any time soon. "I thought--I was afraid--I didn't want to look--"

He stumbles off the rock he's sitting on, which abruptly changes the angle of the kiss. Charles is below him now, leaning up on his toes in the uneven sand and Erik's hands find their way to his hips. Erik wants to put his hands under Charles' sweater, on his chest and back and hips and lower, even, lower _definitely_ , he wants to make Charles come, make him feel good, make him feel so good that he'll never want anything else, never want any _one_ else and never leave, because people are always fucking _leaving_.

"Not going anywhere," Charles says breathlessly, tangling his legs with Erik's and trying to fucking _climb_ him. "I'm not leaving, I wouldn't--"

"That wasn't meant for you," Erik says, but there's no bite in it, he can't find himself minding Charles in his mind when all he wants is Charles in his body. It seems unfair to limit him like that.

"I'm sorry," Charles says, kissing his throat. "I'm sorry. I won't--"

"No," Erik says quickly. "No, you can--whatever you want, _I don't care_ , I just need to--"

"--touch me," Charles says, both a confirmation and an order. He drops his hands to cover Erik's hands and guide them up the precious few inches up under the hem of his jumper until the tips of Erik's fingers are pressed to the curve of Charles' hipbones. Charles' skin is warm and soft and smooth and Erik's fingers push up further and further, skating up his sides until he can feel the bottom of Charles' ribcage.

The wind picks up, blowing their hair around and stinging their cheeks and sending sand billowing around them. Charles shivers and pulls away just enough to laugh, tilting his head to look up at Erik, eyes hooded and dark. They should move inside, somewhere with a bed, preferably.

"Mm," Charles says. "And a locking door."

Erik pauses at that, because he definitely hadn't said that out loud and he'd given permission, yes, but that's...odd. He didn't even feel it, didn't even realize. Charles smiles, but it's sad and dim and apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Charles says. "I wasn't--I'll stop, if you'd like."

 _Yes, please,_ Erik thinks automatically, but he very deliberately says, "No. It's okay."

He knows he's said the right thing when Charles' face lights up, his smile genuine and real and relaxed. Something uncurls in Erik's head, too, warm and just barely brushing over the surface of his thoughts. It's foreign, but oddly comfortable and Erik leans down to press another chaste kiss against Charles' mouth.

The breezes howls again, reminding Erik that there are things that would be better carried on indoors, somewhere warm and quiet where he can take his time looking at all the skin his fingers are yearning to touch. Charles grins at him, flushed from more than just the chill, now, and takes both of Erik's hands in his own.

"Let's go," Charles says, walking backwards towards the path back to the road, to the hotel. He tugs Erik with him and Erik goes, Erik goes willingly and eagerly, without sparing a glance for what they're leaving behind.

He doesn't think either of them will need the scotch to feel warm tonight.


End file.
